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" V ^- '^ ^'^'*'' VILLE, KY. 
VIIARLE,^ T. DEARINd 
1«95, 



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Copyright, 1895. 



THE LATEST FAD, 



INTRODUCTION. 



Tliu SHOW has melted, the ice has broken on 
the river, and the sun shines warm and bright. 
I love the warmth and seek the light with joy 
— seek it early with fondest hope, for I have 
slumbered in a gentle breast and dreamed 
sweet dreams of golden and crimson rays. 

Have I been timid^ No, I have been cau- 
tious; from sacred involucre that has shielded 
my heart I have slowly pushed once, twice, 
thrice a delicate, quinate leaf, and the fresh 
wind, that gave me name, has fanned my 
petaloid calyx to a dreamy unfolding that I 
may look up to the gloriously bright sky, and 
I am called Anemone. 

This is a beautiful world and a jolly go-lucky 
old town that has tried to cast off its provincial 
ways, even as I have burst through the crust 
and aspire to higher things. The smoke that 
curls above is gray, but it is fantastic; there is 
a glow of sunlight on many spires, and glinting 
rays and shadows below that whirl and waltz 
together; there is a soft splash from the river 
and a twittering of birds that is heard like an 



iv INTEOBUCTION. 

uiulertone amid musical bells and reverberating 
whistles. Are there warmer skies, or brighter 
lights? I question. "Yes! jesi" the wind 
whispers, but expanding my corolla until the 
silky vestment can bear no greater strain, I 
answer back for him to bear far away, — "It 
can not be, for this is Louisville, and Louis- 
ville is my homel^' 

There is a great burst of sounds, a whirring 
of wheels, a buzzing of saws and the tram- 
pling of many feet, but each has a voice of its 
own to me; there is something new of which 
all would speak — just a fad for a time-honored 
mother. The breaking ice thundered it forth, 
and when it melted away the murmuring waves 
caught up the refrain; it resounds in the bells, 
is echoed in the footsteps, falls with each trip- 
hammer, and winds with circular saws; half- 
fledged sparrows twitter it from the eaves, it is 
whispered by rustling silk on counters spread, 
and comes from club-houses in tinkling tones 
of silver and glass; the frogs by the river are 
hoarsely croaking it, dainty lips are appeal- 
ingly calling for it, even the silvery notes of 
the cricket on each hearth, like a little Tuba 
amid greater horns, keeps constantly singing, 
"Tell the truth! Tell the truth! It is Louis- 
ville's latest Fad!" 



CHAPTER L 

MUSINGS. 

Golden bars of lio;lit form ladders for shin- 
ing step-ways upward. How pure it must be 
above the odor of the earth I Still this is a 
charming old world, its dust is heaped in so 
many shapely forms that lure the fancy and 
fetter the heart, and the denizens of this town 
on the river are not all climbing higher. 

There is a heaven over all, I have heard it 
said, and just below it an atmospheric realm 
where all with wings may soar, and 1 have 
been told, too, that all mortals may have pin- 
ions and tiy away to joys celestial if they but 
obey One whose light is the life of all, yet 
they are content here. I cannot mount higher, 
but I crave that light; it brought me from dark- 
ness to-day. I know there is another realm 
below me, for it was once my home, and dark- 
ness reigns there evermore, yet it is fraught 
with life and hope and beauty, and those who 
were my friends there are all seeking the light. 
I knew and loved them, nurtured in the same 
bosom. I knew their hopes and aspirations, 
their sorrows jind weaknesses, even as they 



() THE LATEST FAD. 

knew mine, and in the proper season I know 
tliey will all come to the lio^ht. Oh I w\\y do 
not men mount higher too? 

We of that dark sphere have an unspoken 
language with a meaning all our own, and a 
moral law, too, so that we bespeak ourselves 
just what we are. There is one who above 
the crust, after many others have bloomed and 
faded, lifts his head proudly, and though he 
hath not lips to move, he hath a mein that pro- 
claims solemnly, 

•'Truth needs no flowers of speech.*" 

Were he human he would be a nobleman 
among men, as he is a peer in the Flower Land, 
in whose soft hush words are not language. 
Mortals call him White Chrysanthemum. 

People are like flowers, and there are all 
sorts from the hot-house to the field; sometimes 
when they smile I see them look like petals 
softly touched by the wind, and I see, too, 
frowns that dwarf and shrivel, and sorrows 
that have crippled form and fancy like a flower 
crushed by a heedless foot, or withered by 
drouth, or the worm at the core, and I am sad 
oft-times because it is the fairest that is 
blighted. Nor do mortals need words to be- 
speak them what they are; they are but walking 



MUSINGS. . 1 

stalks hooded, capped, or petaled, each with 
an einblein (it is a thonglit not new, perhaps, 
but tVuo) actions and faces speak witliout tlie 
C'orn-cockle's hmguage to tell where there is 
'^niore beauty than worth." 

I have seen one in this city who steps lightly 
in his mundane walk; I have noted all his folly, 
and observed all that lifts him above his incon- 
sistency. He has easy grace, and many 
charming costumes, and when I see him raise 
his head haughtily, only to bow graciously, I 
watch the tiickering light on his smooth cheeks 
and the fringe-like hair parted in the middle 
with dainty yet careless touch, and I know 
that he is a human Carnation, that he hath 
that ''haughty spirit that goeth before a fall." 

1 heard his musings, and I am sure he has 
lieard some sounds to which 1 have listened. 
He was alone in quarters such as bachelors 
love, in faultless smoking-jacket and cap, and 
the smoke that puffed above his lazy head 
took many a cue and turn like the thoughts in 
the bewildered pate it enveloped. Those 
thoughts would have been bright and fanciful 
enough, only he tried to stupefy them by his 
own indifference. 

"Gad! 1 have done everything a fellow — ah 
(even thoughts can drawl) wants to do — ah. 



S THE LATEST FAD. 

1 have gone every gait, I imagine. Have liad 
coats from shortest sacks to cUiw-haramers, 
])antaloons like bags, and pantaloons as tig) it 
as Mephistopheles could bear 'em. Neckties 
have been Windsor, stock, or four-in-hand, 
whatever the goddess decreed; I have gone 
barehanded, have gloried in the precisest 
gloves, have had box toes, gondolas, and 
tooth-picks on my wretched feet; have studied 
stripes and checks in variation until my eyes 
twitched and my head swam; have carried a 
cane with a head heavier than my own, and 
once a watch guard that would answer for a log- 
chain. IVe been crammed into corners, have 
sat behind theatre hats, have quietly watched 
pug puppies get kisses while I have got none; 
IVe been sat upon by boarding-house keepers, 
and hoodood by hackmen, and have tried to 
bear it all with the spirit of a man; IVe been 
to Hower shows, dog shows, and even the 
Gallimaufry, and my courage failed not, but at 
last— the deuce take it! 1 am out of the count 
and clear out of the fashion, (down went the 
])ipe, ashes and all) for I can't tell the truth!" 



IVY A VENUE. 



CPIAPTER J I. 

TYY AVENUE. 

Tliere is many n way and many a turn in 
tliis merry town for tlie lieavy tread as well as 
the light trip, trip, but none like one I will 
mention. Fourth they say in rotation, bnt 
when four is meant lY is often written; what 
is i-Y but I-vy, when pronunciation is made^ 
Then in the term that I know Ivy Avenue let it 
be with a language of its own — "Nothing can 
part us'' — for what has ever parted long my 
sweet girlish flowers from the pretty Ivy trail, 
evergreen and fresh in its own bower, and 
evergreen and fresh in their thoughts and 
memories. 

I have seen many flower-like faces come and 
go on Ivy Avenue. Hot- house Roses, Wild 
Violets, even the common little Field Daisy, 
with the sorrowing Myrtle, but three have 
often come together that I love to watch. 
They have fluttered as the air flutters the petals 
on a rose, and whispered like a fairy's eolian 
strain played by the night wind on the stamens 
of a lily. They have admired with ecstasies of 
delight Easter cards and flowers, have sought 



10 THE LA TEST FA 1). 

out with eyes as briglit as periwinkles the lat- 
est modes and the catcliy fads, and thej are 
admired by all, tor do they not bring a breath 
of this bright spring as they walkif Oh! they 
are so dainty and so sweet I How their 
godets shimmer in light and shade, rustling 
together like newly budded leaves! How 
their ribbons gleam like the tinted waves of 
color that deck the sunset sky! my three 
charming ones! And all have seen them (for 
their homes are right here in this dear old 
town) my Hyacinth, my Snowdrop, my White 
Moss Rose. 

My Hyacinth is tall and fair, and this new 
spring light loves to hide in her shining hair, 
burnished with gold. She has wanted for 
ncnhing through all her dainty tripping on this 
crust the Howers break through. She had an 
ancestor who has been mentioned in many 
books. Who has not heard of that charming 
Hyacinthus whom Zephyrus slew I Her family 
is still among the first; it has known the high- 
est culture for years and years, and she is 
called an heiress because she has heired all the 
good gifts conferred upon it. She can afford 
to be erect, and she will never bend without 
breaking; that is why she has broken so many 
hearts, and her own heart — ah! I have seen 



IVY AVENUE. 11 

wliat is in it, my frao-raiit one, hut I will 
wliisper it softly, she is not iilwiiy.s hai)))y: slic 
is jealous — jealousy, alas! is tlie (Mnhlcjii <»f 
herself and of her kindred. 

My little Snowdrop, is small, her face is 
pearly white, and her eyes so gentle have a 
pink shade creeping over an azure blue, blend- 
ing to purple in their earnest depth, and, like 
a dew-drop on a bud, you can read her ])ure 
thoughts through and through, but hers is a 
courageous little heart. Her forefathers have 
braved many storms, and written their names 
on famous fields, and her language is as true 
as unspoken words can be; it is the unspoken 
stealing imperceptibly to the senses that is 
always truth, while noisy utterances, we who 
listen in silence know may be but boasting. 
Hers is no vain boasting, as with white chiseled 
features turned to the light she mutely tells, 
'^I am no summer friend.'' 

My White Moss Rose — see the grace if she 
droops her head I see the radiance if she lifts 
her face! She has lived in ease, has been loved 
and petted, sorrow has been but a mist that the 
warm sun rolled back in a cloudlet veil to un- 
fold her beauty. She has a name of wdiich 
she may be proud the world over, and a kin- 
dred of unsullied honor of whom she is ne'er 



12 THE LATEST FAD. 

asliamed to speak. She can bend ajracioiisly, 
but slie can haughtily sway back, and slie is 
not afraid; her insight is clear, her response 
(juick, her cleverness (like the silky, emerald- 
liued moss drooping over the stem) hides what 
intuitively she knows until the polished thorn 
of her repartee strikes her offender. True! 
true! my peerless! The soundless music of 
floral tongue to fathomless senses sends a cease- 
less thrill — '-Thou art one of a thousand.'' 

One special day I saw this trio glide the 
evergreen trail of Ivy, and the breath of the 
passage was perfume; and I heard it said by 
others, "The lilies of the field, they toil not, 
neitlier do they spin, yet Solomon in all his 
glory was not arrayed like one of these,'' and 
I knew it was so. They bowed and smiled, 
and met many who bowed and smiled in return. 

One they met was tall and erect, and his 
eyes shone like stars with a (juick flash of 
white light in a dark purple iris. He was 
greeted with dimples that came and went in 
velvet-petaled cheeks like the sunbeams love 
to come and go in a garden of flowers, and 
when he spoke little Snow^drop drooped her 
head, and a hue like the first rosy light of 
dawn spread over her face, then it was I felt a 
pain 1 could hardly define for I knew him well; 



IVY AVJ^NUE. • i:{ 

I liavL' met liini often— the showy Sweet-Will iani. 
AhisI "A man may smile and be avillain too/' 

He claims kinship with Carnation, and far 
back, I believe, they did have a common an- 
cestor, but Carnation is not proud of it. He 
has a relation, though, whom I know — the 
Wild-sweet-william — unwelcome in garden, 
field, or border; tenacious ever, but never val- 
iant, he iiees a storm and blooms in drouthy 
August; his habits are scanty, his means lim- 
ited, so he dwells among rocks and where the 
soil is poorest. 

Ah! my poor little Snowdrop, the grandest 
Sweet-william was ne'er fit for thy mate. Let 
him bow his presumptuous head on his coarse, 
fibrous stem and pass on his way. He knows 
by-paths that you know not, and fiaunts him- 
self in places where you would wither. He is 
showy, but a silver fiask can hold a fiery fiuid, 
and polished cards when trumps may insinuate 
as much fraud as the commonest paste-board. 
His gaudy jewelry is his insignia, his showy 
clothes the regalia of his order, for pools are 
pools wherever bought. It was said of old, 
'Hipon his vesture they cast lots," and the 
wind of chance has scattered that seed through 
every generation. Oh I let him go, my little 
darling, let him go I 



14 THE LATEST FA I). 

True, tliu fuiuily of Diiiiitliiis, of wliicli lie is 
a scion, had many wortliy branches, but think 
of the species and not of tlie genus. It is a 
hiw of dear old Botanj that, that which hath 
thorns, or scales, or habits peculiarly its own 
must be considered a se])arate tribe. Sweet- 
william can never be a Carnation, nor a China- 
pink, tliough some kind of cousin to them, lie 
might have represented a branch as worthy as 
they, (Gerarde spoke well of his fathers) but 
we only know now that 

''be smiles and is a villain." 

I heard springing foot-steps overtaking the 
dainty trio, and I smiled when I recognized the 
one who approached. It was Carnation; he 
hurried that he might speak before they en- 
tered the carriage waiting for them, but he 
arrived just when they were seated, and laid 
his hand on the shining varnish of the door U) 
stay them, or that old Berberry, the coach man , 
("a sour temper is no slight evil") would have 
driven away. Coachmen always tire of wait- 
ing, I believe, I have been told. 

Carnation was not alone, a youth with a 
silky down on chin and cheeks, who is seen 
here, there and everywhere, was with him. He 
is called Dandelion, and below the crust it is 



71')' A VENUE. L") 

said tliiit lie intrudes, lie was in liis own 
colors, tor Carnation would have eluded liim if 
he could. 

It is happiness to stand with one foot on a 
carriage step with three such iiowers within, 
and Carnation realized it, but Dandelion did 
not so much enjoy leaning against the door in 
the background, although he peeped under the 
fringe straight into White Moss Rose's face. 
She is the chosen one of his budding affections, 
but alasl she is the choice, too, (as all Louis- 
ville knows) of Carnation's full-blown hope. 

Hyacinth looked ill at ease, and grew rest- 
less like a Hower starting and trembling when 
some foreign insect invades its perianth and 
makes it quiver — Carnation, the handsomest 
man in town, did not bow his perfumed head 
in acknowledgement of her charms, but sought, 
ever, her fair rival. 

Of what were they talking? Not of poetry, 
niusic and art, great w^ords and hard words ex- 
press all that. A silent How like my own 
sweet language sparkled a moment in his eyes, 
and then went straight to a mossy depth, was 
placidly received and softly covered, while, all 
the time the lips of these mortal plants rattled 
of joyous themes and tinkled with merry 
laughter. 



1() THE LATEIST FAD. 

Why should they not speak of the new f<ul, 
too'^ The soutli wind that had just borne a 
message to tlie Signal Service Corps (whom, 
we admit, it has sometimes deceived), high on 
the Custom House, whispered as it lightly 
skipped by, "Tell the truth!" The clock on 
the City Hall rang out, and in the chime was 
plainly heard, "Tell the truth I" The bargain 
counters behind each window decked in spring's 
gayest charms groaned audibly beneath their 
burdens, "Tell the truth!'' The massive 
printing press in the Courier-Journal basement, 
although it does not always practice what it 
preaches, hummed and wheezed then snorted, 
"Tell the truth!" The light shimmered on 
the cross at the top of the Cathedral spire, and 
like an evanescent sprite, glinted across roofs 
and walls, and though lent is passed, wrote in 
letters varied and unique on bricks and gran- 
itoid, "Tell the truth!" 

So when Carnation vowed by all he held 
most sacred, even by that gold-rimmed eye- 
glass treasured in a pocket near his heart that 
it would take lens of greater power than any 
he had ever worn to discover a pleasure in 
Louisville, and he perforce must go away quite 
soon. White Moss Rose, knowing that the 
language of his lips and his eyes made a cross 



IVY AVENUE. 17 

slie could not reverence, and tliat lie would 
pi(|ue her into betrayal of feeling if lie could, 
laughed, and drew the fragrance of her own 
thoughts closer into the secret corolla of wom- 
an's stronghold for pent-up emotion, and bade 
him think of Miss Poppy Variegated, one 
whose iiirtations, she knew, were many, and 
whose arts, he had often declared, were pow- 
erless to move him. Cruel White Moss Rose 
knew, too, that it wounded his self-approbation 
to refer him to such a one, so she pricked again 
by adding, 

"You could not tear yourself from her, you 
know, so tell the truth, if it does not shock 
your system, it will only put you in the fashion, 
it is Louisville's latest fad." 

He lifted his hat, and set it farther back on 
the colossal crown of what men in this town 
call intellect, and questioned, 

"Could Louisville bear the truth? Might 
not the dear old city of the falls sicken and 
shrivel away at exigency so unexpected ? How 
dare I say to men, your politics is a blank, 
your religion all a fraud; your candidates, bold 
and brazen, their villainy cannot hide, and your 
preachers, oft as not, wear an armor of the 
softest, whitest wool ( Would it do to wake 
up the School-board 'i or, shake up Aldermen 



18 THE LATENT FAD. 

ill their seats? or, refer to iimiiicipal rights 
wlieii 1 have power only to speak? What 
would become of our city officers? where would 
be the city archives we have prized ? or, if I 
could be bold enough to proclaim it, that Lou- 
isville is more provincial than metropolitan, 
that her ideas are the same that Clarke shipped 
down the river, what would the rabble do with 
me? If I say her wasted energy has floated 
away in smoke, that her ambition has caught 
its pinions in the wires that cage her in, or 
that she is one big bird house for sparrows — 
sparrows human, and sparrows on the wing, 
sparrows that walk, and some that talk, content, 
all, with their own broods, and thinking nothing 
of to-morrow, could my own reputation stand? 
Or suppose I say she is an overgrown wart on 
the top of Kentucky's sleepy old head? or at 
best an old, old fossil in the Ohio's forsaken 
channel.? 

"This fad has come too suddenly, practice 
has made us perfect in another art, and ready 
adaptation lias made fiction seem like truth; it 
has become second nature, and it is hard to 
change our spots. I realize my own condition: 
it has blighted my hopes and embittered my 
dreams. 1 have not the courage to again take 
up duty. Ah! send me to the wild West and 



IVY AVENUE. 19 

let me tight IndiMiis; let me go in pursuit of 
the lost Grail, or in some far away seclusion 
let me write a biography of Melchizeclek, but 
do not bid me live contrary to my own na- 
ture. My am.bition is thwarted, my plans are 
all disarranged, I am not what I have striven 
to be, verily I am no longer a fashionable 
man — I cannot tell the truth I'' 

He drew his hat over his eyes and turned 
aside. Dandelion released his hold on the 
carriage door, and it moved slowly away. 



20 THE LATEST FAD. 



CHAPTER III. 

THE TRUTH AT LAST. 

There is iiii awful clatter, a rumbling and a 
shaking I ne'er have felt before. The bells 
are all ringing, the whistles are blowing, the 
children are crying and the news-boys bawling. 
Oh! such dreadful, dreadful things have hap- 
pened. 

The town has been rent in twain, and great 
branching chasms are widening in every street. 
The City Hall is turned inside out; the Court 
House stands on end; the Evening Post has 
gone down into the hole where it stood; 
the Sunday Truth has faded away; the Com- 
mercial uttered but one groan ere it depart- 
ed; the Times office is on lire, and every 
editor of the Courier-Journal is on the roof 
trying to wait with composure for his own 
wings. The Custom House is rocking, iind 
the Signal Service says a tornado is here. It 
cannot be helped, this unsuspecting town has 
brought sorrow upon its own head. The truth 
has been told. 



THE TIWTH AT LAST. 21 

Old Miss Zinnia, the pnidisli old soul, has 
offended Mrs. Hollyhock by saying she is am- 
bitious only of show. Mrs. Narcissus lias 
hurt Mrs. Sage's feelings by telling her, that 
although they were school-mates and friends, 
and slie would not wound her for the world, 
she thinks it would be best for young Sage not 
to call too often on her daughter. Mrs. Myrtle 
lias given a tea and invited only her particular 
friends; a more select circle really than any one 
imagined. Miss Touch-me-not called on Miss 
Peach-blossom, she was at home, but could re- 
ceive no one that day; Mrs. Snap-dragon ven- 
tured consolation, "Would she be exactly in 
the fashion,'" she snapped, "why didn't she 
say, she did not want to see youT' "I would 
appreciate courtesy more," retorted Miss 
Touch-me-not; "she might have had the grace 
to say she was not at home." 

Major Larkspur told Mrs. Sweet- pea, that 
charming young widow, that Col. Snow-ball 
has ever lived a useless life, and when Col. 
Snow-ball heard it, he said Larkspur is a fickle 
soul, who last year thought as much of the 
widow Tulip as he now professes to think of 
another. Mrs. Sweet-pea does not speak to 
either now, and if it ever comes to be the fad 
they will doubtless have a duel. 



22 THE LATEST FAD. 

Mrs. Thistle had told all her neighbors that 
she never did like children, and Mrs. Night- 
shade does not believe her because she has a 
son no one conld help liking. 

Young Heliotrope fondly laid his heart at 
Miss Variegated Pink's feet, and she flatly re- 
fused him to accept that bachelor, Goldenrod. 
Miss Geranium, burning with envy, said, 
"Only an old country squire witii money to 
encourage liim.'" 

Carnation was in sore distress, he met White 
Moss Rose on Ivy Avenue and she bowed 
coldly. He laid his hand on his heart, and 
said many times, "It is all over!" 

Then he met Hyacinth, she knew the true 
state of aff-airs, and thinking it her auspicious 
hour, smiled and tried to attract him. He 
knew she would offer him balm for all his 
woes if he would only receive it, and he looked 
down deep in his heart and asked the question, 

"C'ould I give up White Moss Rose and 
ever be happy with another?" and his lieart 
spoke the truth in answer, 

"No! no!" 

Then he laid his hand on his breast to still 
the tumult the truth hath aroused, and allowed 
her to pass in a jealous rage that almost turned 
her yelh)w, while he murmured to himself, 



TUB TRUTH AT LAST. 2:i 

"I will make an effort; I will siiniinon all 
my strength and speak the truth, too." 

He walked fast, but his heart beat faster. 
He went to White Moss Rose's home and 
called for her. 

She swayed back and forth pliantly, and 
smiles rippled all over her face when she 
greeted him, but he was afraid of those little 
polished thorns, and the fear made him stam- 
mer, yet he told her at last, 

"I love you," and he pleaded with deepest 
emotion; '*be my own White Moss Rose — my 
one in a thousand." 

She smiled, and that smile was a keen little 
brier that darted to his cheeks and made them 
burn. Then she spoke and he felt like a 
thousand prickles were encasing him. 

''Of course I appreciate all you have said, 
and am proud of the honor you would confer, 
but we are not congenial, our ideas and pursuits 
vary. You are not a fashionable man, you 
have confessed it to me and to others, and I 
could not so offend my friends, nor my own 
judgment by linking my fate with one who 
.ignores the latest fashion." 

He bowed in silence, he had not the courage 
to urge what an effort, speaking the truth she 
disreojarded. had cost him. 



24 THE LATEST FAD. 

He went out, and never before did a Carna^ 
tion so droop with anguish. The haughty 
spirit had received a fall. 



THE FAD nmVAlLS. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE FAD PREAAILS. 

Peace reigns once more. There have been 
repairs, exphinations, and tears, and the rents 
the spring paint does not cover the Easter 
tiowers do. This is like a city tliat has come 
out of mourning; so many tiresome ciiains 
have been snapped the very air seems redolent 
of freedom. The truth has been told, there 
is nothing more to dread. 

There is one to whom happiness did not 
come as soon as to others. He walked the 
streets, and where the great rifts had been he 
saw that it was cemented anew, but there was 
a rift in his heart that nothing healed; he had 
spoken the truth, but he had received no re- 
sponse to gladden him. 

Poor Carnation grew pale and thin; his ap- 
pearance was commented upon by all who 
knew him, yet no one held forth a friendly 
hand to assist him uiitil Snow-dro]) in kind- 
ness said to him: 

''You are not happy. Carnation." 



2(1 THE LA TEST FA I). 

'•AhisI I can never be again,'' he answered 
mournfully. 

■ "Yes, I think there is hope for you," she 
said gently. "I know why you grieve; your 
truth was not accepted because you had said 
you could not tell the truth; now it is known 
you were in earnest there is another regrets 
she did not speak the truth, too. White Moss 
Rose does not hold her head so erect, it droops 
on a pliant stem, and I have seen drops like 
freshly distilled dew on her white petals, and I 
know that she mourns for something." 

He lifted his bowed head and faintly smiled. 

She left him, and again he hastily sought 
White Moss Rose. Her manner was so sub- 
dued he was no longer afraid of a sting. 

"Will the truth never prevail," he asked 
anxiously. 

"It has prevailed," she answered softly, 
"this is a wonderfully changed city." 

Pie sighed and regarded her long and ear- 
nestly, and she did not shrink from him, then 
their heads slowly swayed together and they 
clasped hands while the dew-drops she had re- 
strained 'neath the creamy, curling petals 
gushed forth shining like diamonds as they 
dropped, and he knew his truth was accepted 
foi-evermore. 



ANTICIPA TION.S. 27 



CHAPTER V. 

ANTIOIPATIONS. 

My emblem is anticipation. My friends say 
I have the happy faculty of brightly foreshad- 
owing the future. It is a great pleasure now, 
for this old town is a garden full of sweet 
posies; I see them grouped all around me, and 
1 smile oftener than 1 sigh. 

•' As time rolls along- many changes it brings 
In fashions and fancies, in men and in things.'' 

Oh! but there'll be changes here, and will 
not people stare ? 

Madam Cactus, who has talked of divorce so 
long and fluently will get it, and we'll see her 
no more. 

Widow Catch-fly, who was a bride one year 
before last, will be a bride again before the 
snow comes, and Canterbury-bells will be a 
liappy man. 

A Daftodil will console a sorely wounded 
Hyacinth, and White Moss Rose will be a 
bridesmaid before she is a bride (just to show 



2S THE LATEST FAD. 

the triitli did not cut, you know, ) but she will 
be a bride when Chrysanthemums bloom. 

And Snowdrop— ah! who will warn my ])()or 
little Snowdrop of the cloud that will come and 
blow away ere the Holly and Mistletoe are 
hung on the wall. The shadow will be thick, 
but through the first break will be seen a dark- 
eyed stranger, the Cinnamon Rose, and she 
will be consoled with the purest emblem of all, 
''Such as I am receive me; would I were more 
for your sake/' 

Madam Kettle will say some ugly things 
that will raise a little row, but Master Nastur- 
tion (honor to the brave) will boldly defend 
the "Legion/' 

Oh! there'll be changes in fashion, in times, 
and in people. 

Theater hats will humbler grow; bonds will 
set us on our feet, and rusty vault locks will 
turn again. It's a jolly, good people who 
don't care what their grand-children do thirty 
years from now. Let the sun shine! let the 
bonds iiy! we'll be happy while we may. We 
have been cold and hungry, but now, 

•'Oh! won't we have a jolly time I 
OhI won't we have a jolly time! 
.Tei'usha put the kettle on. 
Well all take tea." 



ANTICIPA TIONS. 2!) 

Some new ])e()})le will come, and some we 
know will go, {incl there is "the grass of the 
field, that to-day is and to-morrow will be cut 
down" — yes, whisper it softly, it is the com- 
mon fate of all, and some soon will be cut 
down. 

Yet let us sing a wordless song for the mo- 
ments drifting by, and gather up the sunbeams 
while we may; there is yet life in the land, and 
the flowers are coming. Yes, they will all 
come, but the Orange flowers will drift the 
highest, far, far above the funeral wreaths, 
like drifts of pure white snow, for the truth 
has been told. The truth has ueen told I 



[The Knd.] 



iSmmL?^ CONGRESS 

015 971 598 A 



